"I mixed alprazolam and...." He looks at the bottle on the bedside table. "Very bad and cheap whiskey," he tells her. "In case the paramedics ask," he can't help adding, then laughing at the very idea.

"God, you really started the 'everything's okay' that night?"

His expression sobers. "I didn't know it wouldn't be."

He smooths a hand over her hair, if a little clumsily, when she curls up next to him.

"I see it all the time. It didn't freak me out as much as carrying some of the other memories."

It was a little different from her point of view. He knew why dad was going away: because of him and because he put girls in boxes.

"I didn't know it was a lie," he repeats drowsily.